Sunrise Reminisces
by yellowJsquid
Summary: Hermione is nothing if not logical. So, while watching yet another sunrise, she thinks of him, logically.  Ch. 2 of Snape's POV is up!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's characters. I don't own Hannibal Lecter (though I do worship him) and I don't own the plots etc!

Hermione Granger was nothing if not logical. Even when she was in her younger years she'd had a curious knack for level headedness. She treated all aspects of her life with the same determination and efficiency, and rarely met problems she could not solve. Homework, punctuality, her social life and most other things went smoothly. So now, as she logically faced her biggest problem to date, she can't help but reflect on the facts. Hermione Granger is in love. In love with a Professor. As she lays on her four-poster bed in the early hours of the morning, she can see, in her mind's eye, their first encounter.

**FLASHBACK**

It was a windy September morning when she made her way down to the dungeons for the first time. She was slightly nervous about it- She'd never been terribly good at cooking or baking, so why should potions be any different? Her thin legs shook the tiniest bit as her rather long gait took her further into the bowels of the castle. The portraits in the corridors became gruesome and difficult to look at, and the slightly damp smell than has taken root became more pungent. Her demeanour worsened the deeper she got, until she stood outside of her destination. The large oak door was intimidating, and she hesitated before pushing it open. Though she felt nervous, she was determined to do well. So, carefully, she made her way into the assigned potions classroom and took a seat near the front, near Harry Potter and his red-haired friend. The two seemed well enough, and she couldn't help but feel a little jealous of their early friendship. The rest of the class trundled in slowly and awkwardly, looking interested and frightened in the dark, dank chamber. Their entrance seemed to take forever but the last straggling student had barely sat down when their professor had burst in. He was like something out of a horror movie- Tall, dark and evil. He towered over them as he told them of his expectations in a poisonous voice. Clipped and sophisticated, Hermione was reminded of a horror movie she had watched over the summer, which featured a character named Hannibal Lecter. The connection in her mind between the professor and the cannibalistic anti-hero made her feel uneasy, and she couldn't help but become intimidated by him. Later, she would find him offensive and downright inexcusable. But, as she sat in front of him as a trembling frizzy-haired first year, how could she have known that he would come to mean so much to her?

**END**

Hermione glances out the window at the pale green ribbon on the horizon that is the sunrise. Sleep had lately evaded her, as she dwelt continually on him. She knew it was unhealthy, and that a sleeping draught would put her unconscious in seconds, but she doesn't want to sleep. 'Why would anyone want to sleep', she thought, 'when one's thoughts are sweeter than one's dreams?'

As she sighs and rearranges her pillows, she lets herself recall when the feelings first started, unacknowledged.

**FLASHBACK**

She had jumped when he had burst into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, just as many of her peers had. He had informed them, sharply, that professor Lupin was ill. His black clothes seemed out of place to her, as she was so accustomed to seeing them only at dinner and in his own classroom. As he set about preparing for their class, he'd proceeded to tear into their favourite professor's teaching skills, relishing the opportunity to make them feel ignorant, before giving them a near impossible assignment on werewolves. As the rest of the class bent down to pull papers or quills out of their bags, Hermione (who was already prepared) watched him as he went to the windows. She'd felt it then, as she watched him close the windows in an attempt to make the room more like the dungeon. Just before he closed each shutter, he paused. Only for an instant, but in that instant, with the radiant sun playing on his distinguished features she had felt something. It was warm and small, like the feeling one gets when sitting in front of a cozy fireplace, but on a smaller level. However, as he slammed the windows shut and rounded on them, the feeling dissipated into everyday dislike. She didn't think much of it, or expect to ever feel the warm feeling for him again.

**END**

The seventh-year girl yawns, but knows that no matter how hard she tries, sleep will evade her. The tinged horizon is only slightly lighter, and she supposes it could only be 4:00 am. She turns over onto her stomach, enjoying the feel of her hair as it brushes over her back with the motion. As her eyes linger towards the sunrise, she cannot help but remember the first time she ever saw him smile.

**FLASHBACK**

It was a rainy Sunday in April, when most students had gone to Hogsmeade. She'd heard the rumours that everyone had been so excited about. The school was abuzz with the gossip about the Weird Sisters playing a charity concert in the magical village. As exciting as it was for Harry and Ron, Hermione had never been a fan of the rock-and-roll group, and was feeling like she needed a little down time. After Sirius' death, the end of their fifth year drew close. Harry's unexpressed sorrow and a general air of loss left her feeling like she needed time to reflect on herself, and felt that the rainy grounds would be a perfect setting. She brought a deep green umbrella and donned rain boots to wade through the deep puddles that had accumulated over the course of the day's showers, fully prepared to stay outside for a while. She'd set out after bidding farewell to her friends, and headed towards a small bay in the lake, almost on the opposite end of the school grounds than the entrance to Hogsmeade. She had been searching for a place to sit when, from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark figure in the trees. Although it was raining, the spring air felt alive, and the forest greens twinkled around her indescribably. So, on this rainy April Sunday, the girl had approached the man in the forest with curiosity. Slowly, she crept up until she could clearly see whom this person was, and was amazed by her findings- Professor Snape, sitting on a boulder with a languid, lazy smile etched on his face. The boulder's large, smooth surface allowed him to lean back, resting on his palms. His straight arms gave a hint at wiry strength, and his black slacks were plastered to his thighs as the drops of rain poured down. His cloak was discarded at his feet, and Hermione could see his thin frame as his wet top clung to him. On this rainy April Sunday, Hermione found his lazy smile infectious, until his demeanour beguiled her into a grin of her own. They stayed like that, both lost in their own worlds, until abruptly he had stopped smiling, gathered his cloak, rose to his feet and stalked off, as if summoned. Hermione felt strangely saddened by his departure, and stayed hidden for a short time to make sure he was gone, before she approached the boulder. She could see the quickly shrinking dry spot created by his body, and, without thinking, sat down in it. By the time she had done so, it was the perfect size for her, and with her green umbrella not a drop hit her.

Though she had gone to that place to reflect on herself, she found herself unable to do so as the image of that languid smile played over in her mind. She realised that others were unhappy too, and found it hard to concentrate on herself when larger things rolled around her head, accompanied by that strangely long-lasting grin. This, she realised later, helped her more than any self-exploration ever would have in dealing with grief.

**END**

Though she does not realise it, the same grin that gripped her on that rainy day again weaves itself onto her countenance. Hermione stands, energized by the memory, and opens her window to taste the still, crisp air. She wants everything to be perfect, because the next memory she chooses is the most important. It's her favourite memory- her memory of when she finally realised she loves him.

FLASHBACK 

It was sixth year, when finally he had gotten the position he had always wanted- Severus Snape was their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And she, again, found herself in the DADA classroom watching him. He was in front of the class, scrutinizing them. As the students began their critical analytical essays on the topic of dark influence on magical politics, Hermione was ever aware of his presence, his piercing gaze as tangible to Hermione as the chair she sat on. Slowly he began to make his way around the room, checking papers, handing out scathing comments to the Gryffindors and praising his Slytherins. She could feel the injustice, but it was only a footnote in her cauldron of emotion as she glanced over her shoulder at him, letting her eyes sweep over his form as he strode purposefully through the rows of tables. As he had neared her, she had dropped her head and continued working on her essay, which was already longer than needed. Her heart quickened as his footsteps neared, until he stopped briefly before her, and she held her breath, waiting for his sharp tongue to sting. Without warning or conscious prodding, a thought flashed in her mind; 'I could think of a few uses for that tongue.' Her head had snapped up as the thought ran around her head. It had come suddenly, unbidden, and all at once she was forced to question herself and her feeling and morals. She looked at him with wide eyes, her gaze met only with his stoic black shards. He said nothing, but continued on his way through the sea of desks. Hermione returned her eyes to her paper, but no more of her never-ending opinions would flow from her pen tip. When the bell sounded and the rest of the class packed up, she followed suit. But, as the last person in the room, she looked back at him from the doorway. He didn't notice.

**END**

The Head Girl's smile is sad and distant, meant to be shared with no one but herself. The pale green glow has become slightly more yellow, and she guesses that another hour has passed in reminiscence. She loves him so much. She has for so long. And she can't sleep until she tells him. Because Hermione is a logical girl. She knows that she can't move on until he refuses her, and her torment will only increase. So, she watches the sunrises. This one, however, is special. Because on this day, the day of her graduation, she will tell him how she feels. No matter what, or when, or in front of who. She has to tell him, needs to, even. So she will, if only to move on, logically.


	2. Chapter 2

Whoa, what is it, two or three years later? Who knows- but I'm up late and at the keyboard. Enjoy.

Severus Snape is a logical man. In his profession it is necessary, and in his dual life it is the keystone that keeps the two sides of his stories from crumbling like so much shoddy brickwork. His logic is now in question, his beliefs and values are being tested.

He is standing in the twilight at the base of the castle, far from the evening's graduation festivities as his mind reels.

*flashback*

Again. Another year with no changes, the same dead-end job with the same mindless students. Another year in which his hard work for Dumbledore did not earn him his desired job, nor a reprieve from his dealings with the death eaters.

His temper was hot against the cool air of the dungeons. The corridors were nearly empty as the year's classes began. His inky black shoes lead him to his potions class door which he opened sharply- First years, of course.

A look around assured the disgruntled potions master that no brilliance would be found within the lot of awkward tweens surveying him. His eyes came to rest on Harry Potter. Harry Potter with his father's hair and eyes he didn't deserve. The boy sickened him, and as he strode up to his desk he took note of the two sitting next to him- a Weasley (never a delight nor a suprise) and a small girl who looked as if he was a charging manticore which she intended to tackle head on- the mix of her silly but intense emotions only made him more pessimistic about the year ahead. He made a mental note to generally avoid the three of them. (If only he'd known then how difficult that would be!)

*end*

He is sure that he cannot be capable of complex emotions. Fear and anger are all he needs. But far from being assured of himself he finds his review of his capacities lacking somewhat, as though he is missing something- it is crucial now that he not miss anything, when he must deal with a situation like this.

He is at the base of the castle in the sunset's fading light, and he had been heading towards the Forbidden Forest when this had happened. Now with the gentle feel of the day's cooling July air against his cheek and amber eyes locked on his, his mind runs like a cornered jackrabbit, with no set destination.

*flashback*

Remus Lupin was advancing menacingly, gnashing his wolfish fangs and filling the air with a spine chilling growl. Severus has just come to, but his senses are trained to become sharp immediately. He stood between the three gryffindors and the beast with a racing pulse and the will to die. He hated Harry Potter but the boy could not die- he had too much to do. As the wolf charged, he readied his wand and found that he felt remorse- for all that he had not done. For Lily and for Dumbledore, even for himself. His life was meaningless now that it would be taken by such a pointless fight. And wasn't it a shame really that such a promising student might die here without fulfilling her potential either? It was an odd thought that Severus would later brush away as the rambling thoughts of an adrenaline pumped man facing death, but it had still been there. It was lucky that in that instant Sirius Black attacked the wolfman and their bout allowed the teens to run.

That night,as Severus nursed a stiff drink and a sore head he briefly returned to the passing moment when he had felt sad for Hermione. Though the girl and her bungling friends caused him no end of grief, he admitted (though never aloud) that he hoped she would become more than he had expected from friends of Harry Potter. It was too bad she hadn't been a Slytherin- she was capable of so much more than any of the other useless Gryffindors.

*end*

She was, and still is only a meddling Gryffindor to him. Regardless of how much she has aged or how intelligent she has become, she is still Hermione Granger, know-it-all. Her swift reflexes and decisions in battle do not change the fact that she is still so young, nor does her exemplary physique make her any less of a nosy... Physique?

Severus is surprised to find that the thought has entered his mind, but come to think of it he can feel her curvy waist beneath his palms and he supposes she has filled out appropriately for a woman of her age. Of course, he could never justify any contact with a student. His life was far too set for that, any change to the rhythm of his days could upset the disguise he had perfected so many years ago. Although, he supposes now that the Dark Lord is dead the only reason for his cover, his life, is...

Logic. She is still a student. He is still her professor.

The Sun is hazy as in seeps into the horizon.

*Flashback*

It was a day of relief for Professor Snape when Dumbledore handed Harry Potter his diploma. Seven years of toil with the world's most troublesome teenager had aged him horribly- of course, maybe it had been his life of pain and espionage. Either way he stands in the line-up of teachers and when it comes to be his turn to shake Potter's hand he holds and drops it like something dead and foul. Good riddance.

Though the final battle had been over for six months, Snape's opinions of the people around him had surely not. Except perhaps on one account- After Hermione Granger had stepped in the way of a ghastly spell aimed for himself Severus had found it difficult not to respect her. She was still taking regular treatments to deal with the effects.

As her turn to "walk the stage" arrived he (slightly) begrudgingly softened his scowl and stood up a tad straighter- he owed her at least that much respect on this day. She shook hands with the other professors and he could see she was exchanging all manner of meaningful words with them- she seemed to tear up a bit when Minevra pulled the girl in for a short but motherly hug. It occurred to him that he had nothing to say- no common ground to reflect on or pleasant past experiences to recall. He found himself trying to think of something wise or sage to cover his empty mind. He was spared the effort when she arrived at him- he opened his mouth to spew whatever "long road to success" gibberish he'd built up when he felt a warm moist sensation between their shaking hands. He looked at her and she gave him the tiniest wink and then promptly continued down the line to professor Flitwick. He looked at his palm and found ink lazily swirling around a timer set for one hour. A time-tattoo. The serious man cocked an eyebrow but continued shaking hands with the students that came down the line. What could the girl possibly have to say to him that couldn't be said to his face?

Dinner was served after the ceremony, and shortly after his hand itched to tell him the message had appeared: mischief in the forest. Go West!

When it came to the members of the golden trio, Severus Snape did not waste time deciding if the note was true- there was ALWAYS mischief when they were concerned. He rose promptly and headed for the western edge of the forbidden forest- even if it was some prank of Potter's or Weasley's, they were no longer students- they would feel the wrath of his wand.

The sky was pink and orange, and birds were making their last calls for the day as he stalked down the tower steps. A five minute power-stride brought him around the west side of the castle, from which he could see the dark trees- and a slight feminine form leaning up against the castle wall fifty yards ahead.

"Granger!" he sounded more annoyed than he was- secretly he was relieved it wasn't Potter standing there with his skirt swaying in the breeze.

His long-legged gait brought him to stand over her, a suspicious frown forming on his countenance.

"If this is some graduation prank of Weasley's or Potter's I'll not hesitate to hex you all into St. Mungo's." He threatened.

Hermione seemed unfazed.

"Actually Professor, I'd been meaning to give you something for a very long time now." She answered, grinning mischievously.

"Oh...?"

*end*

So now he is faced with a conundrum of values- Yes, the young witch pressed against him with her soft, warm lips dancing with his is a very inviting prospect. But she is still so much younger than he, and has so much more potential. Thinking logically, he is a terrible choice for her. Really, he's a sour old man.

But these are not the times for logic. These are times of celebration, and happiness. Wizards and magical folks live a lot longer anyways- what's a few decades between them? He's been empty for too long and she feels so good in his arms (which he doesn't remember curling around her). His hand tangles itself in her hair, keeping her lips pressed firmly against his. He's a terrible choice for her... But she's a smart enough witch to know that, and if this is her choice, who's an empty old man to stop her?

The sun is almost completely gone now, and the indigo glow of the night sky pours in through the windows of Severus Snape's chambers where he lays entwined with a brilliant, beautiful witch.

Logically, life could not be better.


End file.
